


Fears

by Deiv17



Series: Fandomic stories [9]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-11-21 16:55:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11361648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deiv17/pseuds/Deiv17
Summary: Anguish followed sleeplessness as the Portuguese soccer player found out about the news of the possible transfer of James.





	Fears

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Miedos](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9674036) by [Deiv17](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deiv17/pseuds/Deiv17). 



> This was requested by Lia in the Spanish version of this story, Miedos, link's above.
> 
> Again, a huge thank you to Jane for taking her time to check this!!

Cristiano was getting bored at home. His mother had left for Portugal and had taken his son, so he could meet his cousins. Without them, the house seemed empty, except for the nocturnal chirps of cicadas, the terrifying calls of house lizards in the darker corners, and the occasional whistle of wind outside. Cristiano had yet to get used to living alone in the huge place, where rooms were kept deserted and gloomy. He reminded himself that his whole family would soon be over from Portugal for New Year’s Eve. Then he’d get some sleep.

That’s why he found himself half-naked in the living room as he watched TV, a large and thick duvet wrapped around himself that helped him stay warm from head to toe. The brightness of the TV was intense. He felt his eyes go dry, so that he had to squint and blink more frequently to keep his vision focused on it. Cristiano fought against the sleepiness that threatened his will to keep his eyelids open. He also knew that fear wouldn’t let him fall asleep in the middle of the dark. So, as there was nothing interesting on TV to divert his attention with from fear of what might be in the shadows, Cristiano decided to distract himself by changing channels. First, it was some kind of home shopping channel where they were selling jewellery and stuff that didn’t really interest him. Then, it was some zombie movies that weren’t scary. Not that he wanted to watch them, anyway. He even skipped past several porn channels; he wasn’t in the mood. He was tired, he wanted to sleep, but he simply couldn’t.

Cristiano kept flicking through the channels, never stopping for longer than a few seconds.

He was going to skip past the news channel, but he suddenly caught sight of a picture on the screen. He had to narrow his eyes a bit more, but that smile could never be another person’s. It was unique. Big white teeth on a young face whose happiness reached the wrinkles in the corners of his eyes as he gave a thumbs-up.  It was James on the screen. Cristiano finally stopped pressing the buttons on the remote control. He rested his gaze on the channel and pricked up his ears as he frowned. Hadn’t James returned to Colombia to spend Christmas with his family? What had happened?

Cristiano raised the volume of the TV. The newscaster stopped talking to show a video of James leaving the English Embassy in Bogota. A group of journalists were on him. Cristiano could see the amount of microphones and hear the indistinguishable voices caused by so many questions directed at James. Cristiano did sympathize with him, but that didn’t stop a giggle from leaving the Portuguese’s lips. Then it ceased. Suddenly a thought hit him so unexpectedly, as if he’d been sat in a restaurant eating peacefully and then one of the other diners had decided to rob the place. It was so sudden that he became scared. A cold shiver ran down his spine, making him quiver and his body hair stand on end; it was caused neither by the darkness nor by the coldness of the season. He had forgotten about those simple worries by now. This was truly an expression of horror and disgrace.

Had James actually considered leaving Real Madrid?

At that point, Cristiano’s eyes glistened. He wanted to cry, but he held back the tears as he took a deep breath and then exhaled. He did this several times until the news was over. Then they started talking about something he didn’t remember nor did he care about. All his thoughts now revolved around James. Had he already made a decision? But he had chosen to desert the team. _Wow, that’s how much he cared about us_ , Cristiano thought. He was being selfish, something told him he was, and then it just seemed unfair to think like that about James.

The truth was that he’d seen the Colombian footballer fall and stand back up over and over again as they were led by Ancelotti and then Benítez, as well as by Zidane. It was with the latter that James had been doing even worse. He was now a reserve. Even Cristiano didn’t know how the footballer that provided the most and best passes and assists in the club was sitting on the bench. What now? James wanted a leading role because he knew of his potential. Cristiano knew it, too. Everyone knew it. That’s why so many clubs wanted to buy James. That was possibly why James had decided to leave for England. Cristiano couldn’t do anything about another man’s decision.

The question was that Cristiano didn’t actually know what to do. He wanted the Colombian to stay at Real Madrid because he’d have liked more opportunities to see him. Cristiano liked James. A lot. He loved the dynamic between them, on and off the pitch. Even though James didn’t play often (and when he did he tried his best), outside of football he was the best company in the world: authentic, happy, funny, natural… Every time they met in a nightclub and danced together, Cristiano’s heart beat faster, pounded against his chest; he sweated more, he was more nervous, and not because of the dancing, but because of the soft touch of James’ arms around his neck, his smile, his fun eyes, the dance moves that James taught Cristiano. It was all terrific. And when they were alone, it was even better because they could be intimate, even if neither of them realized during that moment but later on, when one got into the car and left the other’s home. That was the moment when they suddenly became conscious of the numerous times their hands had brushed against each other’s arms, and their heads had rested on each other’s shoulders (how they could smell the other’s scent and could delight and get drunk in it and memorize it). The Portuguese man felt embarrassed about remembering James’ scent, about feeling safer and more confident when James was beside him. Little by little, he fell more and more in love with the Colombian man, with his salsa-loving, with his dance moves, with his contagious laugh and happiness; even in his difficult moments, with his determination to continue, to live in the present without neglecting the future.

All these thoughts agonized Cristiano, by making him conscious of the imminent reality. He didn’t want James to leave. He didn’t care if he did it out of pure selfishness or with professional reasons, from footballer to footballer: he’d make James stay.

He didn’t realize the moment he ended up lying on the couch watching a fixed point on the screen. A flood of thoughts quickly came to an end. He didn’t realize when his mind suddenly went blank, nor when his eyelids were suddenly heavier than he thought.

***

It was cold at daybreak, like any other day of the month, which was why it was a little bit weird for Cristiano’s teammates to see him jogging far away from everyone else during training, when they all jogged together. It wasn’t just that: he seemed absent-minded, which was really unusual for him. Cristiano always demanded more of himself, he always wanted to do his best, and it was rare to see him so distraught. But his jogging was constant along with his breathing, and so Zidane didn’t pay much attention to him.

The Portuguese’s gaze was on the floor as he warmed up. He wanted to avoid everyone else as much as possible. Mostly James, who was only a few meters ahead of him laughing, being social, having a great time, as if everyone had suddenly forgotten about his probable transfer to England. It was like no one had been informed of the announcement, and if they were, why did no one say anything? It was weird. Cristiano truly believed an emergency meeting should be called to make James come to his senses. But no one seemed to care. It was honestly very frustrating. Cristiano shook his head in disapproval.

“Cristiano?” He heard someone whispering behind him. Cristiano thought it was his crazy mind playing games, and so he let it go. Nevertheless, he soon felt someone tug at his shoulders, stopping him and turning him around. It was Toni.

“What’s wrong, Toni?”

“E-Everyone’s… already, uhm… finished jogging,” Toni explained to Cristiano, not knowing how to tell him.

At this point, everyone knew how absent-minded Cristiano was. The Portuguese man furrowed his brow and looked up over Toni’s shoulder. There was no one else jogging behind them: in fact, the team were all sitting far away, their eyes fixed on both of the men. Cristiano flushed a little, feeling ashamed. The only thing he managed to do was to nod his head, signalling to Toni that he had understood. Toni nodded once in return before jogging back to the group, Cristiano some meters behind him.

He remained like that the rest of the day. His thoughts revolved around James, searching for a fair reason to make him stay at Madrid. A reason aside from his feelings. A reason to convince Zidane.

They split into two groups and gathered in two big circles, each one in a different half of the field in order to practice long passes. One of the players in the group had to run after the ball and seize it. Cristiano stepped aside as Álvaro had to chase the ball. Cristiano followed the movement of the ball with his eyes; he caught it once with his foot and waited to see Álvaro’s feet draw near, before kicking it over to one of his teammates. It was always like that.

Soon Cristiano heard laughter. It was the same laughter he’d heard as he jogged around the field earlier. Attracted by the beautiful sound, Cristiano looked up to see James. The Colombian man laughed along with Toni. Cristiano’s eyes switched from one man to the other, as if he were having an attack of jealousy. He bit his lip as he tried to avoid walking towards them, intruding between them and physically breaking them apart with his own body. Cristiano had to be away from James so that he didn’t yell at him, lose control and say what he really felt. James was intoxicating, sweet, and fierce, like a cup of coffee, a scent that he could breathe in every morning.

Someone called his name. Cristiano knitted his brows together and looked quickly in the direction he’d heard his name. It was then that the ball Marcelo had just kicked towards him hit his forehead with a heavy thud which echoed through his skull. The last thing Cristiano saw before he fainted was the worried look in James’ eyes.

***

He groaned. His head hurt a lot. It felt like the good old days when he would wake up with a massive hangover and could barely crawl out of bed. However, he couldn’t remember drinking. The last thing he remembered was turning around and feeling the ball hit his face before he fell on the ground. James’ face… the sun illuminated it like a halo around his head. As if he was Cristiano’s angel.

The corners of the Portuguese’s lips bent upwards a little. He tried opening his eyes, but the white light was too intense and it just made the pain become more pronounced. He squeezed his eyes shut and laid an arm over his face. It wasn’t long before he heard steps coming closer to him.

“Cris?”

The Portuguese man tensed. He swallowed hard with his dry throat.

“Cris…” A voice whispered. Fingers then softly stroked his hair. They moved slowly through the gelled locks, and tucked back a short strand that had fallen onto his forehead. It was a soothing sensation, and the headache seemed to dissipate little by little. He could almost feel James’ gaze burning into him. He never looked away from Cristiano, who bit the inside of his cheek before sighing and half opening his lids, blinking to adjust to the light.

James was standing beside Cristiano, his eyes fixed on him with a bright smile. He didn’t stop caressing his hair, and the moment suddenly became so intimate. Neither of them spoke, but they felt so many things, like their fluttering stomachs, and the genuine happiness that radiated from James, as always.

“How are you feeling?” He continued.

“As if I’ve been run over by a truck,” Cristiano said with a tiny voice, barely gathering the strength to talk.

Cristiano tried to sit up, but his arms faltered. James was there immediately to hold him and let him fall softly on the bed.

“Thanks.”

“No worries.” If it was possible, James’ smile grew slightly larger.

“What happened?” Cristiano asked after some minutes as he bit his lip.

“Uhm… The ball hit you in the head in the middle of training.” He let out a giggle.

Cristiano groaned again, this time a little louder. James’ face dropped. A grimace replaced his smile, and he even looked nervous.

“Does it hurt a lot?” James asked hurriedly, and was about to leave without waiting for an answer, “Should I call the doctor?”

“No, no.” Cristiano raised a hand to his forehead. He only noticed then the bandages around his head.

“Can I do something for you?”

An idea came suddenly into Cristiano’s mind. He felt a tightness in his chest. The words that he had been wanting to say so much were now choking him. It was like a knot stuck in his throat. It was the perfect opportunity, the intimate moment he’d been waiting for. Now, in that moment, the idea couldn’t have been better. He knew the perfect excuse.

Cristiano nodded his head.

“Yeah.”

“What?”

The Portuguese man looked into James’ eyes for some seconds, the eye contact unflinching. He half opened his lips, took in a deep breath and finally resigned himself to say: “Don’t leave Real Madrid.”

There it was. He’d said it. James looked at him with confusion in his eyes, with surprise and his eyebrows raised.

“What?” He spoke with a tiny voice.

“You’re planning to leave, aren’t you?”

James licked his lips, not looking away from Cristiano.

“Yeah…”

Cristiano tried once again to sit up on the stretcher. He pushed his body up with his forearms. James helped him by placing his arm on Cristiano’s back. The Portuguese man turned around and let his legs dangle from the stretcher, and then he looked up at the Colombian football player.

“Are you going to Mourinho? Are you returning to Ancelotti? Really?”

That was the excuse James had come up with in that very moment. Judging by his facial expression, James thought that he’d said it so confidently that he believed it was true. It was partly true. James had started having problems in the team during Ancelotti’s days at Real Madrid. His participation had started diminishing since then, despite of how the past and current managers said they had no problems with James. And he hadn’t even met Mourinho, but he seemed like a nice guy. Leaving to the English or German leagues was evidently madness.

James said nothing. He just looked down at his fidgeting hands. They both remained quiet until James murmured, not looking up, “It wasn’t that bad…”

“What are you saying? Are you listening to yourself?” Cristiano asked as he raised his voice.

“At least I played more matches,” James replied with a steady and confident voice.

Cristiano let out a sceptical snort. He shook his head and looked around, anywhere but at the stubborn guy he was so in love with. He bit his lip, infuriated, as he tried to hold the words back.

“You’re unbelievable.”

James glared up at him, his eyes meeting Cristiano’s. Now both of them were enraged, their voices raised a little.

“Cris, you know better than anyone how much I hate my current situation.”

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean you should run away from your problems. Not this way. You have to face them, James. That’s the only way,” Cristiano said confidently.

“Who said I was running away from my problems?” James asked.

“It’s obvious, James,” the Portuguese man replied stretching the sound of the first “o”.

“And what about you, huh?! I mean, you should try putting yourself in my situation.” He pointed at himself. “What would you do in my position?”

“Fuck you, James, I’ve suffered too!” His voice cracked a little, the words were about to escape his lips.

“What are you talking about, Mr. Perfect?! You don’t and never will have problems at this club!” He laugh incredulously.

“You think I don’t have problems, too?!” Cristiano lost it. He forgot about his headache and got up from the stretcher to face James. “Every time I hear you’re leaving, I cannot help getting upset.”

James’ eyes opened widely, and he choked back a noise. Cris felt his eyes stinging and he had to blink several times. His lips bent down slowly as the words came flowing out in a massive flood of feelings.

“What are you talking about?” The Colombian man asked, more puzzled than before.

“What am I talking about?! If you leave, who’s gonna join me during training? Who’s gonna make me laugh and help me forget the hours ticking away? Who’s gonna stay with me in the locker room when everybody else has gone?” Tears started sliding down Cristiano’s flushed cheeks, and sobs escaped his lips. “Who’s gonna go home with me and stay up watching movies when I’m scared? Who’s gonna comfort me? I’ll lose my friend, the one that goes along with me to nightclubs, who doesn’t taste a single drop of alcohol to make me feel included.” He staggered a little before saying his last words, “I’ll lose the one person I love the most.”

James didn’t look away from Cristiano. His eyes were full of surprise, chaos, confusion, a million thoughts disturbing his mind. But there was a particular one he completely agreed with. It was the one that shone the brightest.

After striding closer to Cristiano, James grabbed his neck with a hand and pushed the Portuguese man to him. Their mouths collided. Without thinking about it, both of their lips started dancing along, moving to a suitable rhythm, as if they had done this before. Cristiano felt millions of butterflies fluttering in his stomach. He was yelling internally. He couldn’t believe what was happening, his mind fixed in the unceasing movement of their hungry lips as they tried to satisfy their desire for each other. It was like an explosion of pleasure rioting in their bodies, and it felt so good that they neither of them wanted it to end.

But they had to stop as they were desperate for air. They pressed their foreheads together. The feelings established through eye contact were radically changed: now they expressed relief, satisfaction, how much they liked each other. They panted roughly and loudly. They kissed again occasionally to remember the sensation. Most importantly, they smiled, they chuckled. They were happy.

“Is it true – everything you said before?” James asked between gasps.

Cristiano could only nod his head. James’ smile broadened. He lifted his hands up to either side of Cristiano’s jaw and wiped away his tears with his thumbs.

“I like you, too. A lot.”

Then they started kissing again, this time slowly, James’ arms around Cristiano’s neck, who had his around James’ waist.

The door was halfway closed. Out of the room, Zidane had heard everything, alerted by the noise. As inexpressive as he was, his face never reflected what he thought. He was confused, but at the same time… It all made sense now. Of course. Cristiano had been so distracted because of the way he found out about James’ desire to leave the club. Cristiano didn’t want him to go because he was in love with him.

This evidently could not escape these walls. If people found out, it’d become this year’s scandal. Zidane sighed loudly, leaning his head against the wall behind him, and closed his eyes. Being a manager wasn’t easy; he needed to ensure the high performance of the players on the field – and that included their physical and psychological wellbeing. Despite the fact that Cristiano and James had already cast a light on their personal situation, Zidane could not allow himself to have distracted players.

Before their next media conference, to which Cristiano had supposedly been invited, the manager told him that he knew everything. A question about James came up. It was hardly surprising, even though it still irritated the Frenchman. The Portuguese man answered, mentioning how it would be a mistake for James to leave and go to Mourinho or back to Ancelotti. He looked at Zidane out of the corner of his eye, and the manager managed to lightly nod his head before continuing with his own answer.

Beyond what Cristiano could say to people, beyond his professional advice to James, beyond being teammates and wanting the best for James’ future, after all this there were his feelings. The games. The laughter. The nights at home. The dates. The kisses. The hugs. The slaps on James’ ass. It all helped him keep his sanity in a world where they couldn’t talk about the true reason why James decided to stay at Real Madrid that winter.


End file.
